When Pennsic war is getting me down,
I'm covered with mud and dust, and blood and sweat
I climb right down to the base of the hill,
To find a special place that's cool and wet.
The swimmin' hole's the only place I know,
Where you cannot distinguish friend or foe.

When I'm at war feelin tired and beat,
I go down where the water's cold and sweet
I get away from the hustlin' crowd
And all the rat race noise on Merchant Street
The swimmin' hole is where your trouble ends,
A place that you can see more of your friends

I keep tellin you that right smack dab in the middle of camp,
I've found a special place to chill your soul.
So if Pennsic war is getting you down,
There's room enough for two at the swimmin' hole.